Cleaning Up
by Duckula Sunk My ROFLship
Summary: Sylar remembers a recent kill while doing the washing up. Rated K because she gets killed. This story isn't very good. It's an old one.


I have a skill. I don't know when I first acquired it, but I have it. I must have always had it, but the knowledge of it has crept up on me over the years. It's odd, really, that I've never thought very hard about it before. How did I obtain this skill? Is it genetic, or did I learn it at a very young age? I hope to find out some day. I use my skill a lot, and I'm very pleased that I have it. I've always been interested in this sort of thing. It's only recently that I've started to test its limits.

I've only ever known one other person with this ability, and that was my father. He kept a low profile, working in the shop, but I've been taking it more public, affecting a lot of people's lives, perhaps in ways he might not approve of. Nevertheless, I'm proud of what I do, and want to show it off. I've even been in the paper. My ability makes me special, and I think I should carry on with what I'm doing, despite what other people say. Eventually everyone will know what I can do, and my mother will see that I am special after all, just like she always wanted, and I'll help many people.

I often wonder what things would be like if I didn't have my ability. I'd certainly be leading a very different life right now, that's for sure. But I'm confident that ultimately I'll help a lot of people with what I'm doing. Maybe if I'd chosen another way to use this talent I'd be doing something completely different. I still stand by my initial decision, however, as I believe it to be the right one. I think that anything else would have made me unhappy – I'm content as I am, and that's fine. It's important to be true to yourself, otherwise you'll never be at harmony with yourself; you'll always want more. You can never be at ease unless you do what's right for you. What I do makes me happy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My ability comes naturally to me. I don't have to think about what I'm doing, or make any sort of effort. I use it all the time, and I'm becoming more and more well known for what I'm doing with it. I've been finding more unusual ways to apply my skill than people are used to, more dynamic ways, and it's very satisfying to test the results afterwards, even though most people don't understand what I'm doing or why I do it.

My name is Gabriel Gray. I am a watchmaker. It is a fine art, but not one I'd expect many to understand – after all, I don't suppose it sounds too interesting to most people.

I was presently involved in my least favourite part of eating. I like to eat, and often experiment with my own recipes, but washing the dishes is extremely tedious. Putting a plate on the draining board to dry, I paused, noticing a stain still on it. Grumbling, I snatched it back up and squeezed some more washing-up liquid over it, my thoughts drifting back to the previous day.

***

I rang the doorbell and peered in through the window.  
"G-go away!" called a stammering voice from inside. Yet another who feared their power. When would people learn that this was a gift?  
"You have something that is broken. I'm here to fix it." I replied, blasting the door back telekinetically.

***

Plunging the dish back into soapy water, I realised it had gotten cold, and twisted the top of the hot tap. I removed the plate again and ran my eye over it. The stain was still there. I heaved a great sigh. I'd tried vast amounts of washing-up liquid; I'd tried scraping it off with my fingernails; I'd tried rubbing it off with a sponge, but no matter what I did it stayed put. I marched to the cupboard on the wall and threw it open – this called for some heavy weaponry.

***

I could hear a heartbeat coming from the other room, so I followed it, taking in my surroundings as I did. It was a fairly grand house, with quite expensive paintings on the walls, but I wouldn't say she was much better off than the average person. The furniture in the rooms I passed was tastefully chosen, in colours that complemented the wallpaper. The only thing was that most of it was only half there – the best part of them eaten away by something. The curtains had the same feel, and there were burnt patches on the carpet and walls.

I arrived in the kitchen to find a woman huddled in the corner, her hands held out far in front of her. She looked up at me with fear as I took a step forward, but she barely had time to react before I'd pinned her against the wall with telekinesis. Acid generation would undoubtedly be a useful power indeed. But this wasn't only for personal gain; I was trying to fix what was broken. Shauna Aston screamed as I began to saw open the top of her skull.

***

I rummaged through the cupboard, throwing everything in my way to the floor. I finally found what I was looking for. It had been right at the back, underneath a huge pile of things. I prised it out, and brought it over to the sink. Never yet had I come across a stain that couldn't be removed with a scouring pad. I grasped the plate firmly in one hand and the scouring pad in the other, and got to work.

After a while my hands were getting sore and my arms were tired. How long had it been? I put aside the scouring pad and rinsed off the plate. I clenched my teeth as I saw that the stain was still there. That was it. I opened the cupboard under the sink and heaved out the largest bottle, slamming it down heavily on the counter. I unscrewed the cap of the bleach with a look of grim determination set on my face.

***

A drop of liquid fell from my fingertip and burned a hole in the varnish on the floorboards. I smiled. But then a thin layer began to cover my hands, which spread across my whole body, burning everything I touched. I had to learn to control the acid release! Even at that moment my brain was working on getting around the problem. At this time I had a vague idea of how it worked, and got rid of the acid coating on my skin. I thought I could probably control it by now. I held my palm out in front of me, and shot out a jet of acid, aiming at the toaster, but missed and burned a huge hole in the wall. Maybe this was more complicated than I'd thought.

***

The plate was soaking in a tub of diluted bleach, giving me time to work on some others. Soap, dunk, sponge, then put on draining board to dry. Pick up the next one, soap, dunk, sponge, then put on draining board to dry. I reached for the next one, but only felt the smooth surface of the counter. I looked, and saw that it had been three hours since I'd left the plate in the bleach. It should definitely be clean by now. Donning a different pair of rubber gloves, I took out the plate a rinsed it under the tap. I cried in frustration - the stain was still there.

***

Acid generation. The acid was collected and stored in the cells of the body, which were unaffected by it, and then transferred to the red blood cells and brought to the pores in the skin where it was emitted. It was inert until it came into contact with air. Like radiation, it had to be kept under constant check. I looked around the room, searching for something to test it on. Toaster? No, I'd tried that. Lampshade? There was none. Cupboard? No, that wasn't very exciting. I couldn't see anything worth the effort.

***

I looked carefully at the plate. I needed to get this stain off; it was taking up to much of my time. I needed a quick solution. A quick solution... Suddenly a light turned on. That was it – a quick solution. A smile spread slowly across my face. This had to work. But should I? It could damage the plate, and I wouldn't want that, not after all this. But maybe it was worth the risk...

***

Suddenly something caught my eye, distracting me completely. A beautiful, hand-made cuckoo clock was hanging on the wall just above the doorframe. I took it carefully into my hands and delicately examined it, donning my glasses. It was exquisite, with perfect elegance throughout. The small wooden bird inside had been painted with care and attention, as had the rest of the simple contraption, and each black hand had been crafted individually. The mechanism had stopped, but that could easily be fixed.

The clock held safely in both hands, I turned to go. When I was halfway down the hall, I stopped. I felt complete. The cogs inside me were turning perfectly now. I realised that my brain had finally mastered my newly acquired talent. But how to test it? I looked down at the clock, narrowed my eyes and smiled, as the clock was eaten away bin my hands.

***

I closed my eyes. I had made up my mind. I would do it. Reopening them, I pointed my index finger at the plate and gave it a quick blast of acid with a low corrosion level.

I sighed in relief. The stain was gone. I rinsed it under the tap again and, with a slight swagger, put it on the draining board to dry.


End file.
